A Fictitious Listicle of Christmas Complaints
The biting cold, the howling wind, the slippery roads, the snow piling up, and the enveloping darkness, make me want to roll up in a blanket with a jumbo bag of Munchie Mix and not poke my head out till spring.
I wiped out in a heap on the driveway yesterday and was pretty sure I looked like a beached whale and, if I didn’t manage to get up promptly enough, that someone was coming to helicopter me out to the Arctic and lob me onto a precariously thin patch of ice and set me adrift still lying there, essentially gift-wrapped walrus bait.
My neighbor’s house looks like a reindeer binged on 10 ugly Christmas sweaters and then proceeded to projectile vomit. You’d think looking at it would banish my Seasonal Affective Disorder forever, but I still feel like I need to go inside, dim the lights, and take an Ativan. I’ve started averting my eyes even in the daytime.
My 30-year-old, Zellers Christmas special, fake Christmas tree is now starting to look like a 30-year-old, Zellers Christmas special, fake Christmas tree. Even Charlie Brown and the gang couldn’t sing this pathetic, scraggly mess of glue and plastic back to life.
My attempt at making a cheery platter of whimsical holiday treats ended with me crying, dusted with flour and eating cookie batter out of the bowl, while tearfully admitting that I don’t have the dexterity to use a rolling pin, cookie cutter, or piping bag or the stamina to make six dozen cookies in one day.
The lines were so long at the mall and the people so grouchy, I started to blame them for everything that’s wrong with my life.
If I have to listen to Frosty the Snowman one more time, I might have to rent a snow blower and take out all the snowmen in my neighborhood, handknit scarves, carrots, and all.
I couldn’t find the wildly popular, obscenely overpriced, Christmas gifts my loved ones wanted, so there’ll be dampened sadness around the tree this year instead of joy.
I can’t afford this but I’m doing it anyway and I’m not sure why.
I got the ugliest ornament in the gift exchange at work. It’ll make a fine addition to my growing collection of ugly ornaments from Christmases past.
Too much cheese log equals one large cheese plug. 😛
With all these Christmas parties, my bowl-full-of-jelly belly is starting to overflow my pants by a couple of large dollops.
The turkey is dry, the gravy is lumpy, the Jello didn’t set, the guests are arriving, and I feel like a smelly, wrung out dish rag who just had her hand up a big bird’s butt.